Tag Archives: Poetry

Odes and Sonnets are…

Posted by David Emeron on

…related in a way I just discovered.  Regarding these two, the first is a reflection of an ode to S.T.C. (of Ancient Mariner fame)  Which is written in iambic heptameter in ten couplets, or five quatrains, if you prefer (and incidentally, the way it was originally written.)  This ode will you find down below within the grey box. Continue reading →

The entry for today…

Posted by David Emeron on

…is the result of some very rough blank verse being converted to a sonnet.  I really didn’t go overboard here in my rhythmic adherence to the form.  I’m not sure what I think about the result.  This one hung around as a draft for a number of days.  I’d work on it absent-mindedly for a handful of minutes here and there and finally finished it a few days ago and placed it in the queue.

This method has yielded better results and easier results in the past, particularly when I was not certain the direction I wanted to go on a particular work.

I may do a bit–possibly quite a bit–of lucasing on this one because I am not completely satisfied with the result.  There is a level of satisfaction I consider to be a minimum requirement.  I needn’t think a particular sonnet shall move heaven and earth by its art in order that I might be satisfied in it; however I like to think I proficiently used all the various techniques that I intended.  If I do a complete rework of this piece, then I think I’ll leave this one alone and enter it as another sonnet–perhaps link them together.

We shall see.

I have been wanting…

Posted by David Emeron on

…to compose a sonnet by picking the rhyme scheme first and placing the rhyming words next and then filling in the sonnet from there, trying–as well as I can manage–to create something coherent and with some kind of consistent theme and message, and with a proper Volta, etc.   A holiday of sorts is coming up at some point soon, perhaps I’ll make a present to myself of some extra work.

Xerex, Coda: Here…

Posted by David Emeron on

…will you find the first version as it had been penned originally so many decades ago.  The dotted lines have been added to indicate whence the sonnets come:

O, my sweetest love,
Share thou with me
The sweet Xerex

Which I do proclaim
As the nectar which
Returneth me to

Thee, my sweetest love.
Quiet my restless mind
With the still, sweet

Grape which is the
Blood of lovers and
Of conquerers.
—————————
Such is the stuff
That would quiet my
Mind and my heart

For thee, and ease
Thy pain easily
With a pure flavor,

And with little regret
From thyne Angels’ heart.
Remember thou, my love

That even in this
Cruel
Earth there art

Those elements which
Heal in their right
Proportions.
———————
Remember thou, my sweetest
Love, that many
Forms Are yielded

Up by the Fickle
Grape: The subjective
Grape yields

Up poison and
Medicine for the
Soul.
———————–
As Baudelaire, my
Father, my twin,
My dearest

Poet knew this drink was
Fine; so shall I
Proclaim: My sweetest

Love, As my
Devoted, As my
Servant, As my

Slave; bring thou
Me of the sweetest Xerex
Grape and I

Shall become returned
To that which
Thou most admireth.
————————–
But, that thou shouldst
Know:  Once I have To
thine arms return’d

Thou shalt be my
Wine and my
crystal.
————————–
Thou shalt be
Mine Angel–superior
To all the grape is

Able to be.
I shall thenceforth
Drink of thee,

My love and I
Should never again want
For wine.

Much has in me been yielded up by that fine grape so many long years ago.

Regarding Xerex I…

Posted by David Emeron on

…in particular and the Xerex sequence, in general:  It has long been rhapsodized by many throughout history that wine most fine produces vision most fine.  It might appear, at first blush, that such a thing cannot possibly be the case; after all, such a notion seems to fly in the face of reason; the intoxicant in wine is ethanol; and one ethanol molecule conforms and behaves very much like any other.  Why then do dreamers, poets, writers, painters, musicians–artists of all stripes–continue to entertain this notion; or rather, why do they continue to have just such an experience, be inspired by their awe of it, and subsequently, feel compelled to recount it? Continue reading →